


Recommended by Galen and Avicenna

by sanguinity



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/F, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 16:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6573790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity/pseuds/sanguinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s a labour-saving device,” Mac said, unable to keep the affront from her voice. “Invented by male physicians too lazy or stupid to learn how to use their fingers properly, and enabling a clinician to see four patients in an hour, instead of just the one.” When Flossie looked blank, Mac added, rather stiffly, “I do hope I’ve never given you cause to believe I find your pleasure a chore. Let alone a chore on par with the ironing.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recommended by Galen and Avicenna

**Author's Note:**

  * For [within_a_dream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/gifts).



> Many thanks to my betas and Ozpicker, phoenixfalls, grrlpup, and lastwingedthing. Any remaining errors are of course my own.

“So what’s this, then?” Flossie asked while Mac was making their drinks.

Mac glanced up. Flossie was holding the hard-sided case that Mac had left in the foyer after the day’s rounds. She hiked her skirt high around her plump thighs and sat cross-legged on the settee with the case snug in her lap. Mac turned back to her cocktails as Flossie snicked open the clasps. If it had been her medical bag, Mac might object, but there was nothing particularly hazardous or sensitive in the smaller case.

“That, my girl, is an electric vibratory massager,” she said, putting the final touch on Flossie’s sidecar. “The blessing of physicians everywhere who find themselves oh-so-conveniently burdened with rich female patients complaining of hysterical or neurasthenic symptoms.”

Flossie glanced up from beneath her dark, bobbed curls to take her drink. “Should I be jealous?” she asked.

Mac laughed. The Victorian establishment might never have had the pleasure of knowingly witnessing a woman’s orgasm, but Flossie was obviously well aware what treatment Mac provided to sufferers of neurasthenia and hysteria. Mac had snorted behind her hand during that lecture at medical school, but the sexually unsatisfied widows and matrons of Melbourne society had been kind to her medical practice, this first year back from the war.

Mac sprawled in the oversized armchair opposite the settee. “Oh, I hardly think jealousy is called for. My patients could take matters into their own hands, so to speak, yet they choose to pay me a pretty, weekly fee to maintain the illusion that they are simply unwell, rather than subject to the same low, dirty impulses as the rest of us. You must admit, my dear, it’s really not my style.”

Flossie smiled back at Mac. She was probably under the misapprehension that Mac’s taste ran toward Flossie’s youth and attractiveness—and Mac would admit those attributes certainly hadn’t hurt—but it was Flossie’s bright curiosity that had first drawn Mac’s attention four months earlier at Cinderella’s. Mac would miss that when Flossie sailed for England.

She watched as Flossie hefted the gleaming chrome and jet massager and turned it in the light, examining its fittings. “Never seen one before?”

“When would I have?” Flossie asked. “No money at home for anything like this.”

Mac shrugged, conceding the point. What little extra money came Flossie’s way, she routinely spent on chalk and paints. Mac helped out as she could, but happily for Flossie, the newly-honourable Miss Fisher believed that her new fortune ought to be useful, and she trusted Mac’s recommendation implicitly. Flossie would be off to London soon, taking art and French lessons under Phryne’s patronage, and then perhaps, if Phryne was favourably impressed, attending a Paris conservatory. Mac was confident that Flossie would thrive in Paris, and in more ways than the merely artistic.

“I’ll get you one as a _bon voyage_ present, if you like. Not that I expect you to find yourself wanting for company on the passage.” Which reminded Mac: she really ought to see the girl was properly fitted for a diaphragm before she sailed. No point in allowing a budding career to be needlessly brought to a halt before it properly began.

“Can we try it?” Flossie asked.

Mac paused mid-sip, taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“Can we try it out?” Flossie repeated, indicating the massager as if Mac was being a bit slow. “I never have, you see.”

Mac blinked. “It’s a labour-saving device,” she said, unable to keep the affront from her voice. “Invented by male physicians too lazy or stupid to learn how to use their fingers properly, and enabling a clinician to see four patients in an hour, instead of just the one.” When Flossie looked blank, Mac added, rather stiffly, “I do hope I’ve never given you cause to believe I find your pleasure a chore. Let alone a chore on par with the ironing.”

Flossie laughed and got up from her seat. “As if you don’t have your laundry sent out.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Mac said, still affronted. She may not have been the brushes-and-pencils kind of artist that Flossie was, but she considered herself to have a certain Parisian-taught artistry with fingers and tongue.

Flossie came and stood over Mac, placing a knee on the cushion between Mac’s leg and the chair’s arm. Flossie was very nearly straddling Mac’s lap, her breasts hidden behind the fall of her straight-waisted dress. She held the massager carelessly, the cord trailing behind her. “Believe me, I have no complaint about your fingers,” she said, leaning down to kiss Mac. Mac slid her fingers up Flossie’s thigh until she found the edge of her stocking, pulled taut by the garter strap. “Nor your tongue, neither,” Flossie declared. She swung her other leg over Mac’s lap, driving her knee deep into the remaining space by the chair arm, and settled herself into Mac’s lap. She considered the appliance, then looked back at Mac. “So it’s quick, then? How many times do you think _I_ can come in an hour? Better than four, I bet.”

“A bet I wouldn’t dream of taking, my dear,” Mac said, amused that the girl heard ‘four patients in an hour’ as a challenge, rather than a matter of economic efficiency. It would be a poor bet indeed: Flossie had a charming knack for coming quickly and easily, and it seldom required much effort to coax a second orgasm from her hot on the heels of the first.

Flossie seemed happy enough to have Mac’s hands exploring up the legs of her knickers, but when Mac reached for the nest of curls between Flossie’s legs, Flossie lifted herself up, pulling away from Mac’s hand.

“No, not your fingers. I want to try this,” she said, brandishing the massager. “Show me how a _doctor_ does it, _Doctor_ Mac.”

Mac laughed aloud. Stung, Flossie immediately tried to remove herself from Mac’s lap, but Mac grasped her hips, pulling her back. “No, no, I’m sorry, stay. We can use the massager if you like, but—” She made her face studiously straight while Flossie glared at her. “It surprised me. What I do with you is so very different from what I do with them.” She dragged the back of her knuckles down Flossie’s centreline, down her sternum and across the doubled swell of her belly. “It’s all very stiff and formal with them. Efficient, clinical. No pleasure for anyone beyond the obvious. I can’t imagine you being satisfied by it. I certainly wouldn’t be.” Mac drew her hands down Flossie’s bare arms in apology. “We can try the massager, if that’s what you really want, but not like that.”

“Try it how then?” Flossie asked. Her expression was wary, but she was no longer in open revolt.

Mac pursed her lips, considering. “Focus on pleasures other than the obvious, I should think.”

Flossie’s expression was half suspicion, half intrigue. “Like what?” she repeated.

“I have absolutely no doubt, my girl, that you can _astonish_ me with how many times you could come in an hour, but this evening…” Mac slid her hands back up Flossie’s thighs, searching out the points where her garter straps caught her stockings. She flicked the grips open one-by-one as she talked. “This evening I might enjoy seeing how long you can hold off. Hold off, in the face of _that_.” She nodded at the massager Flossie was holding. “Do you think you can not come for an hour?”

“ _Not_ come?” Flossie seemed as scandalized by Mac’s proposal as Mac had been by Flossie’s. Mac grinned.

“Just for an hour.” Mac licked the ball of her thumb, then slid her hand back up the leg of Flossie’s knickers. She dragged her thumb slowly over Flossie’s clitoral hood, and the girl’s hips shifted, seeking more pressure. “It won’t be boring, I promise.”

Flossie frowned, obviously trying to calculate where the pleasure was to be found in not coming. Mac smiled back, confident the girl’s curiosity would carry her over into a _yes_.

“And if I don’t like it?” Flossie asked.

“Then we can stop. Or stop stopping, rather, and you can claim whatever forfeit you like.” Mac stroked Flossie’s hood again, and again Flossie’s hips lifted into her touch. Mac dropped her voice to a murmur. “But I think I would _very_ much like to see you flushed and excited, my girl. Eager and ready, but holding back, being so good for me.” Flossie’s free hand tightened on Mac’s shoulder. “Letting me give you whatever pleasure I like, then letting me give you more. Can you do that? Not come for an hour, while I use everything I know about this on you? See what my professional expertise looks like when I’m _not_ being efficient?” Mac pulled the massager into their laps. The weight of the device pushed her thumb more firmly against Flossie’s clitoris. “Would you try that for me?”

Frankly, Flossie seemed more interested in rubbing off right there on nothing more than Mac’s thumb and words, so Mac withdrew her hand to Flossie’s thigh, waiting for an answer.

Flossie blinked at her. “Yes,” she finally said. For a reward, Mac pulled her down into a kiss.

“Excellent.” Mac tapped Flossie’s thigh, urging her off her lap. She slid her fingers into the loose tops of Flossie’s stockings, helping her skim them down off her legs. “Take the massager with you and go meet me in the bedroom. I’ll be there in a second.” Flossie nearly skipped off to the bedroom, while Mac took a few more moments to sweep the vibratodes back into their case before she followed.

Flossie was happily naked when Mac entered the bedroom—she hadn’t been wearing much under her dress to begin with—but Mac was still fully dressed from her rounds and had much farther to go. Brogues, jacket, cravat, pocket watch, waistcoat, collar, cuffs, braces... Flossie helped, though her help was frankly as much distraction as assistance. When Mac was stripped to the waist, with Flossie’s cool, soft breasts pressed up tight against her own, she said to hell with the rest of it. She wrapped her arms around Flossie and straightened up, carrying her the last few paces to the bed. She unceremoniously dumped her there, then took up the massager and rooted through the case for a likely vibratode. Flossie, laughing, sat up to watch.

Mac knew from long experience in the clinic that the first touch of the machine was often intimidatingly intense for the inexperienced. She chose a shallow, flattened cup to begin: something that would focus the stimulation on the tissue around Flossie’s clitoris, as opposed to the organ itself. She snugged the attachment onto its fitting, then fished out three more vibratodes she was partial to and placed them in easy reach on the bedside table. She knelt by the socket, plugged the machine in, and flipped the wall switch.

The motor roared into life, its angry buzz filling the room, reverberating from the ceiling and walls. Flossie inhaled, startled by the machine’s racket, and Mac laughed.

“Oh, it’s a beast,” she agreed, coming to sit beside Flossie. “Designed by physicians, for physicians, with the purpose of getting a patient off—and off one’s exam table—as quickly and ruthlessly as possible.” There were heavier-built models than this one, but even a portable machine like Mac’s was built to stand up to heavy-duty use over a full clinical day. Mac’s hands might go numb from the weight and vibrations long before the device overheated. “Not at all like the well-mannered appliances advertised in _Milady’s Boudoir._ ” She took Flossie’s hand and placed it over the buzzing vibratode. Flossie jerked and drew back when it made contact. “Firmly, so it doesn’t tickle,” Mac coached. She helped her find the right amount of pressure, and when Flossie relaxed, becoming more used to the sensation, Mac smiled. “Good. Now I think if we just arrange ourselves like so…”

Mac sat back against the headboard and invited Flossie to come recline in her arms, between Mac’s trouser-clad legs, while the massager buzzed unattended beside them on the bed. Flossie wiggled fetchingly against her as she settled, and Mac took advantage of the opportunity to finger Flossie’s slit, already deliciously slick. She took her time about it, and when she had Flossie sighing in her arms, her hips pressing up into Mac’s hand, Mac took up the massager, working out how to best hold it in this new arrangement. This position was more awkward for her than sitting between a patient’s legs, but Mac would be damned if she did anything with Flossie that was reminiscent of what she did with patients. It already stung her pride to be using a machine with her at all.

“Now,” Mac said into the girl’s ear, when she had the massager arranged to her satisfaction. She nodded at the mantle clock, “Note the time, please.”

Flossie began to register her complaint that the hour should have started _much_ earlier, when they were getting undressed, but Mac guided the vibratode’s cup to press the tissue surrounding Flossie’s clitoral hood. Flossie gasped, her complaint forgotten, and lifted up into the machine, already seeking more pressure. “That’s…” Flossie began, and then lost the thought as quickly as she had began it. Her hands tightened in the wool of Mac’s trousers.

Yet despite seeking more contact with the machine, Flossie’s posture was stiff, and she fidgeted restlessly under the machine’s touch. Mac experimented with pressure and attitude, trying to translate what she already knew about the girl’s preferences. “Here, I’ll support it, you guide it,” Mac suggested, and pressed a kiss behind her ear for reassurance.

It required a little coordinated fumbling. Flossie pressed the vibratode to herself with one inexperienced hand until she found a pressure and angle that made her sigh. Mac slipped an exploratory finger between the cup and the girl’s muff: to her surprise, Flossie wanted the cup’s lower lip riding directly on the edge of her hood, nearly on the emerging tip of the clitoris itself. 

“Well, look at you,” Mac murmured into her ear. She nudged the massager, urging the girl to take a little more stimulation before immediately backing off again. Flossie inhaled sharply, and her hips rose in response. “Wanting it right up against your pearl, just like you’ve done this before. I always knew you were a quick study.” Mac repeated the motion, nudging the vibratode in small circles, and Flossie rocked into the movement. The fingers of her free hand curled into the flesh of Mac’s thigh, her nails sharp even through the wool. Mac wished she could touch the girl’s belly, her breasts, but the machine was too heavy to be manipulated one-handed. She contented herself instead with murmuring words of encouragement into Flossie’s shoulder and neck.

Flossie’s rise to orgasm, when it began, was sharp and fast, and Mac missed the beginning of it. Holding the massager steady didn’t require much mental engagement—after all, the machine had been built first and foremost as a labour-saving device—so Mac found herself drifting, mindlessly whispering encouragement. Flossie, for her part, was fully absorbed in the sensations of the machine itself. It was precisely why Mac disliked massagers for anything other than convenience: they were a godsend in the clinic, and perfectly acceptable when one was alone and wanted relief without fuss or frills, but try to bring them into bed with a lover, and soon enough you were both interacting with _it_ instead of each other. She began the tricky business of separating the girl from the massager without earning her everlasting enmity, and guiltily kissed Flossie’s neck, making the mental promise to do better by her.

Flossie had begun to perspire from arousal. Her skin was warm and moist and fragrant, and her neck tasted faintly of salt. Her _moue_ of concentration as she reached for her climax made something twist inside Mac. “Beautiful,” Mac whispered in her ear, heartfelt, because she was. Flossie abruptly turned to kiss her, sloppy and needy, and Mac let Flossie have her mouth as she began to ease the machine away.

Flossie whimpered in protest and clutched at the machine. “No, not yet,” Mac reminded her, firmly extracting the machine from the girl’s grasp and putting it aside. “It’s not time for that yet, _shhh_.” She slid her own hand under Flossie’s, shielding the girl’s clit from the frantic action of her fingers. Flossie whined, and Mac held Flossie’s muff firmly, attempting to provide comfort via steady pressure but steadfastly refusing to permit any friction. She could feel Flossie’s vulva twitch under her fingers as her vagina flexed and clasped.

“Mac,” Flossie whimpered, distraught, and Mac wrapped her free arm around the girl and held her tight. Both of Flossie’s arms came up to clasp Mac’s, and she buried her face in Mac’s neck. “ _Mac,_ ” she protested again.

“Shh, such a good girl,” Mac soothed, “Look at you.”

Flossie whimpered again, her hips bucking. “How long?” Flossie asked.

Mac glanced at the clock. “Eleven minutes.”

The girl heaved a frustrated sigh, then a moment later nodded against Mac’s neck. “I can do eleven minutes.”

The determined bravery in Flossie’s voice made Mac smile. “You’ve _gone_ eleven minutes,” Mac corrected her. Flossie said nothing, her silence ominous. “We have forty-nine minutes to go.”

Again, that ominous silence, and Flossie bit her, a hard sting of reproof.

Mac shouted in surprise, and folded into helpless laughter over Flossie’s shoulder. “All right. I deserved that, I think,” she allowed.

“You did,” Flossie agreed. She nosed into Mac’s neck, as unrepentant as a cat, and Mac laughed harder.

Flossie’s muff still pulsed and flexed in distress under Mac’s fingertips, so Mac pressed the palm of her other hand into Flossie’s belly, just above the girl’s pubic bone, over her womb. Flossie groaned, tilting her head back and pushing herself up into Mac’s hands. “Yes, there’s my good girl,” Mac encouraged Flossie, and felt Flossie’s muff spasm under her fingers again. Flossie turned to kiss her, all eager need and frustration, and Mac suddenly _craved_ , wanted to feel Flossie like this forever.

“You can give in, if you want,” Mac offered, knowing it was grossly unfair to phrase it like that, but unwilling to take her thumb off the scale, either. “If it’s too hard. You can come now, and we can be done.”

Flossie considered, her face pressed into Mac’s neck. She heaved an unhappy sigh. “Not just yet, maybe.”

Mac shuddered, feeling her own internal muscles spasm in response. “That’s my brave girl,” she praised, and took Flossie’s face in both hands to kiss her. Flossie whimpered into Mac’s mouth, her hips bucking high, suddenly bereft of Mac’s touch. Mac hooked a leg over Flossie’s, offering her a wool-clad calf to grind herself into. “Shh,” Mac reassured her, as Flossie pressed against her leg. “You’re doing so well.”

Mac took advantage of having her hands free to stroke and pet Flossie’s breasts and belly while they kissed. Flossie continued to grind herself into Mac’s calf, but Mac cannily kept her leg cocked so that Flossie couldn’t quite find the traction she wanted. Gradually Flossie’s motion lost its desperate, heaving edge, and subsided instead into a gentle undulation. The girl was obviously still keenly aroused, but no longer ached with it. She made little noises of pleasure and need into Mac’s mouth, and Mac revelled at how sweetly Flossie responded to Mac’s touches.

Of course it was too good to last.

Flossie pulled back and gave Mac an accusing look. “You promised me the massager,” she said with a note of petulance.

Mac glanced at the machine buzzing on the other side of the bed. Flossie was nothing if not stubborn, and if Mac could play on that to get the girl to last out the hour, she shouldn’t be surprised that it cut both ways.

“So I did,” Mac agreed. She ran a hand over Flossie’s belly, and considered the girl’s current arousal and the remaining forty minutes that stretched out ahead. “But a different attachment this time, I think.”

However, instead of reaching for the vibratodes she had set aside earlier, Mac leaned over the edge of the bed to drag the massager case nearer. She rooted through it and came back with what the manufacturer had originally labelled as a ‘scalp massager’: a broad, flat disk, populated with short, hard rubber spikes. She put it into Flossie’s hand. “What do you think of that?”

Flossie examined it doubtfully, testing a blunt spike with her thumb. “It looks… prickly.”

Mac made an indeterminate noise. It was an admittedly awkward attachment. Its sheer size tended to diffuse the machine’s vibrations, and the spikes invariably conveyed both too little and too much sensation. But the attachments Mac had selected earlier were all too direct; Mac thought Flossie might prefer something that wouldn’t bring her back to climax again too quickly. “I don’t use it much,” she admitted. “It’s a bit slow and tricky, and I don’t have much use for that. But the point was to make you feel good, not to torture you with how many times I can bring you nearly to a climax.”

Flossie went subtly still. She seemed to somehow burrow even deeper into Mac’s embrace, and something in Mac sat up, alert to the girl’s sudden tension. “Flossie?” she asked. When Flossie didn’t answer right away, Mac nuzzled against her ear. If she hadn’t known better, she would have said the girl had become suddenly shy. “Tell me,” she urged, and was surprised by the growl in her own voice.

Flossie held silent a few moments, but pressed into Mac’s touch. “I might not mind that too much,” she finally allowed. Her hips twitched against Mac’s calf.

Mac inhaled, her arms tightening around Flossie. “Might not mind what too much?” Her own eagerness startled her, and she tried to push it back down, or at least keep it from becoming too apparent. Subtly leaning on the girl to last out the hour was one thing; this was another. Flossie was silent. “Me bringing you right up to the edge of an orgasm,” Mac asked, “then holding it back from you?” Flossie made a plaintive noise, pressing harder into Mac’s neck, and Mac shut her eyes, enveloped for a moment in the girl’s noises and scent and heat. “You bucking and thrashing in my arms from wanting it so badly? Crying out in distress? Then me doing it again, as soon as I think you can stand it? And again after that?”

Flossie whimpered, tried to press her hips against Mac’s calf, but Mac straightened her leg, moving her calf beyond the girl’s reach and pressing the girl’s pelvis down to the bed with the weight of her thigh. Flossie rolled toward Mac’s leg, but Mac hooked her other leg over the girl’s, twisting her back so she lay flat on the bed again, her hungry muff open and splayed to the air. Flossie made a plaintive noise.

Mac forced her voice to be gentle. “Is that what you want?” Then, because she couldn’t in good conscience not say it, “You can say no.”

Flossie gave a moan of despair. “Yes,” she said, and used her limited range of motion to thump her hips against the bed. “Mac. Please. Yes. That’s what I want.”

Mac wanted to swarm the girl, devour her, heave her out of her arms and crawl on top of her. She wanted to press her mouth to Flossie’s muff as the girl twisted under her. Mac instead settled for setting her teeth against Flossie’s neck, and her nails against her belly. Her nails were far too short to inflict any real damage, yet Flossie gasped and writhed in Mac’s arms, arching herself up as high against Mac’s hands as she could reach. Mac dragged her fingers up the girl’s belly, leaving eight long blush-marks on the girl’s skin—and oh, the girl pushed into it, making Mac nearly quiver with want—and then Mac took Flossie’s chin in her hand and kissed her. Flossie kissed her back hungrily, her body twisting between Mac’s legs, and Mac noted with fierce satisfaction that Flossie didn’t even try to reach for her muff.

“Oh, you are in for it now, my girl,” Mac informed her, and Flossie shuddered prettily in her arms. Mac plucked the spiky attachment out of her hand and instead took up one of the attachments she had put aside earlier: a smooth, hard, necked globe, barely an inch across. It was efficient and relentless, and Mac only used it with her more experienced patients, the ones who had the hardest time reaching paroxysm. She handed it to Flossie for safe-keeping, then lunged half-off the bed to reach for the wall socket. Flossie cantilevered her weight on Mac’s legs as Mac flipped the wall-switch off, and the massager’s drone immediately cut off, leaving the room strangely silent except for their breathing and the creak of bedsprings. It was quick work to switch vibratodes, and then Mac reached for the wall switch again, and the massager roared back to life.

Mac sat back against the headboard again, urging Flossie to resettle herself between Mac’s legs. “My legs inside or outside?” Mac asked, wanting to feel Flossie pinned down and writhing under her legs, but only if the girl herself wanted it too.

“Inside,” Flossie said, and grasped the wool over Mac’s thighs to pull Mac’s legs over her own.

Mac groaned and put her teeth against the meat of Flossie’s trapezius, not biting but wanting to. Flossie’s poor little grasping muff was open to the air with nothing to press against, so she gave it two of her fingers, both sinking in easily. The girl was so much slicker than she had been earlier, and Mac pumped a few strokes into her, feeling Flossie’s internal muscles press and clasp against her fingers. But she had promised Flossie the massager, not her hands. She withdrew her fingers and offered them to Flossie, who held Mac’s wrist firmly until she had licked them nearly clean. Mac tongued off the last bit of slick herself from where it hid between her fingers, then reached for the massager.

Flossie reached up to bury her fingers in Mac’s hair.

“Any time it’s too much, just say so,” Mac told her. “You can change your mind any time you like.”

Flossie shook her head sharply. “Just _do_ it,” she demanded.

Mac laid a finger alongside Flossie’s engorged clitoris to gauge the position, then nudged the massager head up against the other side of Flossie’s clitoral hood.

Flossie gasped and pushed into it. Mac held the girl’s hips and legs firmly in place. Flossie put up with that for only a few seconds before reaching for the massager herself, shoving until she had the head precisely where she wanted it, very nearly on the exposed tip of her clitoris. “So eager,” Mac said into Flossie’s ear. She nudged the massager in circles, deliberately letting the stimulation cycle between too much and not enough, using everything she knew about bringing a woman to orgasm quickly. Flossie tensed and twitched against Mac’s body in response. Earlier Mac had been cautious in her movements, not wanting to overstimulate the girl, but now she was more aggressive, challenging Flossie to meet the sensation. Soon Flossie was rocking into it, her small gasps and cries becoming more heated, one hand working on Mac’s thigh, the other still buried in Mac’s hair. Mac let Flossie rock into the machine until the muscles of her stomach pulled taut and hard under the soft swells of her belly. Flossie’s neck corded with tension as she reached for her climax.

Mac pulled the machine back, just beyond the reach of Flossie’s hips. Flossie pressed her face into Mac’s neck and wailed her despair, her fingers tightly gripping Mac’s thigh.

She made no move to reach for herself or the massager.

“ _Oh,_ ” Mac breathed. “Look at you. Look how good you are for me.”

Flossie whimpered, and thumped her hips against the bed in a paroxysm of frustration.

“So very good,” Mac repeated, and set the massager aside. Flossie whimpered, and Mac couldn’t resist brushing her thumb down over the girl’s clitoral hood, feeling the skin hot and loose over the engorged clitoris beneath it. Flossie wailed again, her whole body going taut. Mac stroked her thumb over the girl’s hood again, and again after that, thrilling at the way Flossie twitched, but made no effort to evade Mac’s touch.

“Again?” Mac asked, when Flossie looked like she might be able to take it.

The girl squinched her eyes tight shut, looking for all the world like she was in pain. “Yes,” she said.

Mac took up the massager and did it again. Flossie lasted barely two minutes this time before Mac had to pull the machine away again. Flossie groaned and twisted her hips, trying to bring her thighs together, but Mac held her firmly in place. “I _hate_ you,” Flossie said, and Mac laughed.

“Anytime you want to stop, you can,” she reminded her, and glanced at the clock. Flossie still had a full half-hour to go.

Flossie shook her head emphatically, her body still twitching in Mac’s embrace. “Not before the hour is up.” She managed to make it sound like a plea.

“So perfect for me,” Mac told her.

Flossie nodded, whimpering. “Perfect for you,” she agreed. She was half-gone somewhere else, and yet every part of her was focused on Mac.

Mac shut her eyes and buried her face against the girl’s neck. “I want you to do something for me,” Mac said.

Flossie pulled away to look at Mac. Her mascara had begun to melt, from Mac’s perspiration or her own. The skin under her eyes appeared fetchingly dark and smudged.

“I’m going to use the massager again, and this time I want you to tell me when to stop. I’ll count.”

Flossie frowned. “You’ll count?”

Mac nodded. “I’ll count. I want you to last as long as you can, and then _you_ tell me when to stop. Your job this time. Can you do that for me?”

Flossie nodded, still somewhat bewildered. Mac encouraged Flossie to draw a thigh up, and Mac repositioned the massager so that Flossie’s thigh could help support the machine’s weight. She reached between Flossie’s legs and firmly drew back her clitoral hood with the flats of her fingertips.

“Oh, god,” Flossie said, tensing up.

“Okay?” Mac asked, looking for any sign that it wasn’t. Flossie nodded, still tense. “Relax,” Mac encouraged her. “Breathe through it.” Flossie nodded again, still tense, but this time she took a breath. Mac waited until Flossie relaxed slightly, although “relaxed” was relative: Flossie’s body was still taut with anticipation. “Good girl,” Mac told her. “As long as you can, but don’t let yourself come. I’ll count.”

Then she let the massager touch directly to Flossie’s clitoris.

The girl heaved in Mac’s arms, her entire body going rigid, her fingers like steel pins on Mac’s quadriceps. Mac counted the seconds in Flossie’s ear, while Flossie drowned her count by pleading Mac’s name. Flossie lasted a bare six seconds: then she was thrashing to get away from the machine, shoving at it with her hands, climbing halfway up Mac’s body in her distress.

Mac dropped the machine to the bed and wound Flossie tight in her arms and legs, while Flossie clung to her and sobbed her name. “Such a good girl, so good, so good for me, so good,” Mac told her. Flossie thrashed, and Mac rolled them both over so that Flossie was held tight and secure between Mac and the bed. She kept up the litany of praise. “Look at you, you’re so excited you could come right now, all on your own, couldn’t you—” Flossie bucked against Mac’s weight, wailing again. “But you _won’t,_ will you? You could come without a touch, I know you, nothing but my words and all that pent up excitement—” She felt Flossie shuddering, her muscles rippling under her skin. “But you won’t. You’ll let it slip right past, slip right by and not reach for it, just because I want you to, my good girl, such a good girl—”

“ _Mac_ ,” Flossie pleaded, and Mac kissed her, worming a fist between the bed and Flossie’s belly, just above her pubic bone. Flossie pressed down into it.

“You could, it’d be enough, but you won’t, you _won’t,_ ” Mac instructed her, and Flossie sobbed.

“Such a good girl,” Mac repeated, shifting her weight to an elbow and stroking Flossie’s hair with her newly freed hand. The girl gradually settled somewhat, although she still moaned her distress into the bed.

“Here, let me make it better, roll over,” Mac instructed, rolling herself to the side and pushing the girl up onto hers, then flipped her position, head-for-feet, to bring her face even with Flossie’s hips. Flossie clutched at her leg, whimpering into the wool of Mac’s trousers, and Mac stroked her hip and side comfortingly. “Shh, not going to tease, I promise, just make you feel good.” Flossie’s muff smelled of hot rubber, but Mac ignored that and leaned close, letting her breath flood into Flossie’s curls.

Flossie sighed into it, lifting her hips into the warmth, and Mac did it again. She gently brushed back Flossie’s curls until her hood and outer labia were exposed, then dragged the flat of her tongue, wide and soft, down over the girl’s hood. The acrid taste of rubber flooded Mac’s tongue as Flossie cried out. Mac turned her head to lick the taste of it away on Flossie’s thigh, then dragged her tongue over Flossie’s hood again, this stroke long enough to pick up the bright, sweet, tang of Flossie’s juices at the end. Flossie’s sounds still had a distressed, pleading note in them, so Mac switched to using the inside of her lower lip, smoother, softer, gentler than her tongue. That made Flossie’s thighs ease open, even as she turned her head and mewled into the wool of Mac’s thigh.

Three strokes later, however, Flossie was urgently tugging at Mac’s legs and hips. “Get these _off_ ,” she insisted, scrabbling at Mac’s trouser buttons. Mac hurriedly reached down to release the one inside her waistband before Flossie ripped it off in her haste. Flossie wrestled with the fabric, attacking the laces of Mac’s drawers, and in the tussle, Mac bumped the massager off the bed. It banged onto the floor and clattered merrily against the hardwood, deafening Mac with its sudden hornet’s buzz.

“ _Christ,_ ” Mac swore, and sat up to grab a pillow to throw down over it. The pillow did nothing to muffle the racket. Flossie threw down another, which proved as useless as the first, and Mac nearly fell off the bed, trying to get the pillows _under_ the thing, where they might do some good. Flossie took advantage of the moment to haul the remainder of Mac’s clothing off her legs, sending Mac half-sliding off the bed. When Mac had finally got the thing silenced and herself properly back on the bed, Flossie pushed and tugged until she had Mac lying on her side, upper foot flat on the bed so that her thighs were propped open, Flossie’s head deep between them.

Mac reached for Flossie to try to match the favour in kind, but Flossie shoved her away. “No, just you,” she insisted, and Mac lay back, as content to allow Flossie to run out the clock this way as another. Flossie, however, had learned Mac’s body well during the previous months. Mac was soon clutching at Flossie’s leg, her head pillowed on Flossie’s thigh, while she alternated between stealing licks and tastes for her own comfort and cursing at the girl to stop teasing. Mac finally nudged Flossie’s mouth aside and rubbed hard at her own clit— _she_ had made no promises to last the hour, after all—and then Mac was cursing her pleasure into Flossie’s soft thigh.

“ _Christ_ ,” Mac swore again, catching her breath. She twisted on the bed to look at the clock. “Seven minutes,” she said, and both saw and felt the shudder that went over Flossie. She kissed Flossie’s thigh again, noting the way the girl twitched restlessly, still uncomfortably aroused. “We’ll make this one slow,” Mac suggested. She pushed herself up on her elbows so she could see Flossie’s face. “Slow and easy, one steady build.”

The girl was a mess, her hair in disarray, the skin around her mouth flushed. Mac put her feet on the floor and sat up properly so she could reach Flossie to kiss her.

“Again?” Mac prompted, when they pulled apart.

“I’m not sure I can,” Flossie said. She shut her eyes.

“Shh,” Mac soothed, stroking Flossie’s side and hip. “Trust me. I know how to make it slow for you. Or would you rather stop now? Have my tongue, and disregard the last six minutes?”

Flossie turned a glare on Mac. “I hate you.”

Mac laughed and stood to switch off the massager and swap out attachments again. “Then it’s a good thing you’ll be rid of me in a week, isn’t it?” She fitted the spiked disk to the massager and flipped the wall switch back on. “Budge up,” she said, and re-inserted herself between Flossie and the headboard, reaching down to retrieve the pillows from the floor to tuck behind her back. Flossie arranged herself in Mac’s arms, mouthing at Mac’s neck. Mac could smell her own musk on Flossie’s lips. “Bend your knees,” Mac coached. “This time you hold it and I’ll guide it.”

She deliberately positioned the disk low this time, over Flossie’s labia, entirely missing her clitoris. “How does it feel?” Mac asked.

Flossie frowned. “It’s…” she began. Mac waited. “It’s not enough,” she finally said. Her hips shifted restlessly.

“Good not enough or bad not enough?”

Flossie shook her head, but she was rejecting the question itself, or perhaps her inability to answer it, and not what Mac was doing with the massager.

Mac laughed softly. “I’ll tell you, and you tell me if I go wrong. It’s uncomfortable. Too prickly and spiky and everywhere except where you really want it. But your poor abused little muff is so hungry, has been so good and so lonely, that nearly any attention would feel good. Am I right?”

Flossie squirmed, still frowning. “Yes,” she agreed. “Higher,” she demanded.

“Sure?” Mac asked. Flossie nodded. It took a little doing to be confident that Flossie’s pearl would nestle between two spikes instead of being caught under one, but Mac was well-used to working blind under her patients’ skirts, feeling her way by touch alone. She brought the vibratode back into contact, the spikes stimulating the poor abused flesh adjacent to Flossie’s clit, and the girl let out a heartfelt groan. Mac kissed her, and Flossie bit at her lips in frustration.

“Shh,” Mac told her. “Relax into it, don’t fight it. I could switch heads and have you there in a minute, but then—”

“No,” Flossie protested, “I don’t—”

“Shh, I won’t,” Mac reassured her. “You’ve had enough of that. Slow and easy, and then you’re going to be such a good girl and come so prettily for me.”

Flossie’s entire body went tight at Mac’s words, and Mac hastily shoved the vibratode down away from Flossie’s clit. “ _Not yet,_ ” she instructed, imbuing her voice with every ounce of doctorly authority she had in her. “Not yet, my girl. Just a few minutes more.”

Flossie turned into Mac’s neck, and Mac kissed and petted her with one free hand. It only took a few seconds for Flossie to settle again, and then Mac brought the vibratode back to its previous position, the spikes once again framing Flossie’s clitoris. Flossie set her teeth in Mac’s neck—in protest, for comfort, Mac wasn’t sure, but she was too far gone herself to care. She wasn’t strictly aroused herself, but soaring on some heady mixture of trust and power and caretaking that was far more potent. She whispered comfort against Flossie’s cheek, kept an eye on the clock, and tried to gauge the rock of the vibratode so that its stimulation remained just this side of not quite enough.

Then it was finally time.

She wormed a finger between the spikes framing Flossie’s clit, and ruthlessly pulled back Flossie’s hood. “Come for me, my good girl,” Mac instructed, and she let the vibratode rim bear down on her finger, her own digit conducting the vibrations straight onto the bare tip of Flossie’s clitoris.

There was no pause, no build-up. Flossie simply arched and wailed, her muscles corded and taut where they lay near the surface. Mac held tight, lavishing praise on her, her own vulva spasming in sympathy. Flossie clutched at her as she bucked through the aftershocks, and Mac abruptly found herself well and truly _done_ with the machine. She pushed it aside and scrambled out from behind Flossie, getting down between Flossie’s legs until she could sink three fingers deep into her, her mouth firmly on Flossie’s clit. This time, the scent of rubber had mixed with Flossie’s own scent to become something rich and bitter and enticing—or it was exactly as acrid as before, and it was Mac’s own desire that had changed—and Mac closed her eyes to drench herself in it, letting the girl ride hard against the flat of her tongue. The girl’s aftershocks around Mac’s fingers were glorious, and when they finally eased, Mac lifted her head.

“Again,” she demanded, and had to pull back to save her teeth when Flossie bucked high. Mac pinned Flossie down and settled into soothing, long pulls at Flossie’s clitoris, permitting a hint of teeth to cut through the lingering numbness the massager had most likely left behind. Flossie cried out, her hands tight in Mac’s hair, positioning Mac’s head exactly as she wanted it.

When the second round of aftershocks had died back, Mac laid her cheek on Flossie’s pubic bone while she caught her breath. “One more time?”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Flossie protested, putting her hands over her eyes, but she lifted her hips toward Mac’s face. “Please,” she said, sounding broken, and Mac thrilled at the desperate note in it. “Mac, please.”

Mac settled into the steady, satisfying work of bringing Flossie to orgasm a third time. It was a slower build this time, the girl clearly exhausted, and yet Flossie showed no reluctance, curling a leg over Mac’s back to hold her firmly in place. Flossie kept up a steady litany of Mac’s name, and when Mac finally coaxed Flossie’s third orgasm from her, Flossie pushed her away before her paroxysms had even properly finished, putting a foot on Mac’s shoulder to kick her off. Mac disentangled herself from Flossie’s legs and pushed herself back up the bed. There, she pulled the girl into her arms, holding her through the twitching aftershocks, while Flossie steadily cursed her.

When Flossie had finally settled in Mac’s arms, Mac glanced at the clock and pressed a kiss to Flossie’s temple. “That was three in twenty minutes, my clever, clever girl.” Flossie murmured something indistinguishable, and burrowed deeper into Mac’s shoulder. “But I think,” Mac teased, “you promised me four in an hour?”

Without looking up, Flossie punched Mac’s shoulder, hard.

“I know,” Mac laughed. “You hate me.”

Flossie pulled her head back but didn’t open her eyes. “Completely,” she said clearly, then let her head fall onto Mac’s shoulder again. “But I still might like a massager for a _bon voyage_ present.”

Mac laughed, and gathered the exhausted girl closer in her arms.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. 3x05 "Murder and Hysteria" had a somewhat strange of idea of the relationship between vibrators and medical practice, circa the 1920s. Most of the details used here are taken from [_The Technology of Orgasm: "Hysteria," the Vibrator, and Women's Sexual Satisfaction_](http://www.nytimes.com/books/first/m/maines-technology.html) by Rachel P. Maines. Maines' book is U.S.-centric, but I've found nothing to suggest that the history of vibrators in Australia was distinctly different from their history in Britain or the U.S.
> 
> 2\. [Cinderella's](http://melbqueerhistory.tripod.com/coffee.html) was a queer coffeeshop on Collins Street. This story might be set a little early for Cinderella's—I never did find a founding date—but if that's the biggest anachronism in the story, I'll be well-pleased.


End file.
